


i don't know you (but i'd like to)

by orphan_account



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, F/F, warning: overuse of the word ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She really is trying. But God, Carmilla is obnoxious.</p><p>(aka, the one where laura's in a girl band, carmilla's lead singer of an indie band and they hate each other until they don't)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't know you (but i'd like to)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thestarthetime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarthetime/gifts).



> because i really really underestimated how busy i am in december, this is kinda rushed and may be terrible. but this prompt was amazing and i hope i did it some justice (i didn't include quite a few of the things you wanted, which i'm kinda annoyed at myself about). happy holidays to strongkorra and everyone else too!
> 
> background pairings: heavily implied laf/perry, implied laf/jp (purely platonic, however), implied kirsch/danny (also platonic?? could be read either way)

I.

The first time Laura sees Carmilla Karnstein, it's through a laptop screen; a grainy YouTube video filmed by someone unable to keep their hands steady. But, after watching it herself, Laura supposes if you're watching Carmilla Karnstein perform, focusing on anything else _would_ be difficult. She certainly has an allure about her, one that catches your attention and keeps a hold of it until she's finished.

 She slinks around the stage lazily, singing low into the microphone, her voice like treacle; she sings about waltzing under stars, living forever, and does it with a bored expression, like she doesn't quite believe in what she's singing.

“LaFontaine says that that's just her neutral expression,” Perry says when this is pointed out. Danny snorts. Laura thinks that, as unpleasant as it makes her seem, this may also be part of the reason she's so entrancing to watch.

  
II.

The first time she watches her perform live, it's a few weeks before their tour starts. They'd been invited to their gig and a meal afterwards, a celebration of sorts.

It's different from what she's used to; though the Nancy Drews aren't famous on a big scale, their performances have always been somewhat formal. There's never been choreography or matching outfits or anything ridiculous like that, but Laura's always felt almost detached from the audience when she’s performing, high above them and a few feet away; she’s always felt more involved with their fans on Twitter and such. Here, the audience is right in front of the stage, everyone pressed together and dancing as well as they can trapped against the people around them. The band doesn’t abide by the setlist; they play what the audience wants. And all of Mircalla's members are wearing plaid and jeans— except for Carmilla, who's wearing leather pants.

They go to Denny's for lunch—“Nothing too fancy, yeah?” LaFontaine had said, “I mean, we're not business partners or anything, we don't need to go to any fancy restaurant,” which had Perry muttering something about _the last time we went to a somewhere nice_ and _ridiculous experiments_ and _not allowed there anymore_ , though she sounded fond— and Laura orders cocoa with her meal, because she's an adult who makes good dietary choices.

“Cocoa?” Carmilla says, her eyebrows raised. “What are you, five?”

 “I like cocoa,” she replies, feeling juvenile. “And besides, it's pretty cold out.”

“Yeah, okay,” and a mocking smile is all she gets in response. Carmilla returns to her phone and she's left there, uncomfortable and confused, with whipped cream on her upper lip.

The rest of lunch goes… not well, but there’s no hard feelings or blood spilt at least.

Once they had finished lunch, Kirsch, Mircalla's drummer, ordered a massive sundae and so did Danny, which led to a weirdly aggressive eat-off between the two. It's never determined who actually won, because someone knocked the table and the inevitable happened.

The meal ends with ice cream everywhere.

(That includes all over Carmilla's leather pants; Laura feels maliciously triumphant).

Needless to say, they tipped well.

  
III.

Pictures of the sundae incident are plastered all over the Internet, or at least the section where their fanbase dwells. A number of things are implied about Danny and Kirsch, a particularly amusing picture of a horrified-looking Perry gets turned into a meme and all of Mircalla's fans go insane over their lead singer with melted vanilla ice cream smeared all over her leather pants. Laura tries not to think about it.

They brush it off well, with plenty of jokes, and tour starts with their collective fans excited about what hijinks they might get up to next.

Perry had protested when this was brought up in an interview.

“We’re all friends, of course,” she had said, quick and with a lot of underlying panic. “But we strive to be professional. No more, uh, hijinks from us, unfortunately.”

“And no more ice cream spilt, I’m guessing,” the interviewer says with a grin.

Laura never fails to cringe when interviewers try to be funny— she prefers it when they just talk, when they act natural, because then she never felt this pressure to be glamourous and impressive, the baby-faced sweetheart of a promising girl group. She doesn’t want that; they’re just girls who like to sing and write passive-aggressive songs about overbearing straight boys, who live off pop-tarts and like to have Buffy marathons on their free days. It’s such a cliche to say they’re not in it for the fame, but it’s true; it’s just... their thing, their band. It’s not a big deal.

“No promises,” Danny says with smile, but Laura’s fairly sure she’s replaced _ice cream_ with _blood_. Kirsch ruined her yellow pants, after all, which pretty much means war.

Laura smiles like she’s looking forward to it. Which she is. But she’s also really dreading it.

 

IV.

They only have one sleeper bus, seeing as there’s ten of them, including their tech crew. It’s pretty big and has five bunk beds, a TV, wifi, some really nice leather lounges and the like. It’s not first class, but it’s homely and they’re not demanding; it’s not like they’re mega super famous or anything.

The tech crew consists of Sarah Jane, Natalie, Betty and JP. The first two are best friends and really sweet; Betty is very obviously wasted on this type of work, but they both used worked in the same shitty coffee shop before Laura’s “big break” and Betty figured this was a better alternative and that, hey, maybe she’ll pick up some work on the way.

“JP is LaFontaine’s… something,” Perry says, like that clears everything up.

“He’s their long-term Internet buddy and possible platonic life partner,” Carmilla drawls from the back where she’s lounging. Perry exhales heavily through her nose, her expression pinched, but doesn’t reply. “They’re have some sort of psychic link. It’s sickening.”

“I think it’s cool,” Kirsch says, wrapping duct-tape around his drum sticks idly. He breaks them on the regular, apparently, but keeps them for some reason.

(“He’s into that kind of sentimental bullcrap,” Carmilla had said and Laura felt strangely defensive, but it was made clear some time after that Carmilla didn’t detest him or anything. She just mildly disdained him. But she mildly disdained everyone, so Laura didn’t bother coming to his defense. She didn’t think Kirsch cared that much anyway; he was one of those strange people who were so very content in life even though they didn’t really have any ambition or goal or plan or, well, anything.

“How did you come across him anyway?” Laura had ask LaF on the third morning, while they made coffee for themself and cocoa for Laura.

“He was Carmilla’s brother— well, kinda brother. Adopted brother? … Step-brother? I don’t even know. But, yeah, Kirsch was Will’s college bro. Somehow after Will decided to reveal himself as the biggest dickmunch the world has ever seen, we acquired Kirsch. He’s a good drummer and a good guy, though. I like him and he’s grown on Carm.”

“How does one ‘grow’ on the most misanthropic person ever?” Laura asks, cross-legged on the kitchen counter.

LaF just laughs.)

  
V.

Laura shares a bunk with Carmilla; she really isn’t sure how she drew the short stick there, but she tries to be polite. She tries. And she does way better than Danny, so that’s something.

She tries getting her coffee, does it just as LaF tells her to, way too strong with nothing added. She tries making her bed. She tries to make conversation, find out what she likes to do, what interests her (she likes philosophy, she finds out, and Joan Jett; that’s about it). She tries so hard, but to no avail.

And, even though she tries to push it down, it makes her angry.

Carmilla isn’t that bad, really; sure, she sleeps irregularly— like, ridiculously irregular; she’s always napping in the day, whenever she can, and blasting her music from her headphones at 3 in the morning— and moves around in her sleep like she’s possessed. She drinks straight from carton and doesn’t clean up after herself. She spends way too long in the bathroom, uses all the hot water and steals her things. And she’s very aware that Carmilla is the one using her shampoo, because her hair smells of apples, so she can’t feign innocence. Laura has evidence.

“You smell my hair? Why, cupcake, how romantic of you,” Carmilla simpers when she confronts her about it. Laura chokes on air and doesn’t reply, doesn’t even dignify that with a response. She just storms off.

She really is trying. But God, Carmilla is obnoxious.

And she doesn’t even try not to be, like Kirsch tries to be respectful despite his ingrained dudebro nature, and Danny tries to be civil, and Perry tries to be accepting of JP and LaF— whatever their relationship may be— and like she is trying to be nice to her, only to be brushed off and sneered at.

This weird feeling inside her keeps boiling— an unexplainable need for Carmilla to like her, and Laura’s never been like that before, she doesn’t need people to like her, but this, for some reason, is bugging her to no end— until she decides that, no. This needs to stop. Carmilla doesn’t want to be her friend, she doesn’t want her company or her peace offerings. She wants to be alone. Laura can leave her alone. She will leave her alone.

  
VI.

It’s a few weeks in when Laura finds Carmilla outside with her guitar. They’ve just arrived in the middle of nowhere, it seems, but then Laura’s never been that great at geography.

She didn’t come out here looking for Carmilla; she just couldn’t sleep. It had been an energetic day, fans more hyped up than usual, weather sweltering, and she hadn’t really come down from the adrenaline high yet. Everyone else had crashed, except her and, as it turns out, Carmilla. Which was to be expected, what with her weird sleeping schedule and all.

She’s singing softly, almost breathing out the notes. Laura vaguely recognises it, a Hozier song or something similar. It’s a few bars in before she looks up.

She smiles oddly, a grim twist of her mouth, like it doesn’t quite fit but she’s trying to make it happen. She looks tired, eyes dark and her hair in a messy bun. She also isn’t wearing obscenely tight pants.

Laura feels intrusive, even though there isn’t anyone else there.

Laura had successfully avoided Carmilla until now. She hadn’t really reacted to it, other than using even more of her shampoo and stealing her pillow, which was a new and unwelcome development that Laura opted to ignore. She took it back when she could, but never confronted her about it.

“Hey, sweetheart. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Shouldn’t you?” And there it was again. Her tone was always defensive with Carmilla. She tries again, softer. “You won’t get another chance to rest for a while.”

They had a lot of interviews the next few days and a photoshoot. None of her band were really keen on photoshoots; they all felt stupid, dolled up like an 80s girl band, way too colourful and uncomfortable, being moved to the photographer’s will, like they actually were dolls. Mircalla just weren’t that type of band; all their album covers were done themselves and they didn’t really do interviews for magazines. Though Carmilla always looked like she had walked right off a catwalk anyway, with her corsets and skinny jeans.

She doesn’t now, though. She looks dead on her feet.

"Yeah, well, maybe it’ll be an excuse to skip out on all that.”

Laura snorts. “I wish I could get away with that. Perry would kill me. I mean, she’d be totally concerned and all, but she’d look all disappointed and sad.”

“Which, I’m guessing, is equivalent to murder,” Carmilla says, bemused.

“With Perry, yeah, pretty much.”

Carmilla doesn’t answer; she just starts playing again, something Laura doesn’t recognise. It’s quiet and sweet, melodic. Laura doesn’t know how long they sit there, but for the first time, she doesn’t feel brushed off. She feels like they’re sharing something.

They only go in when Laura’s eyelids start to droop.

  
  
VII.

“Okay, what happened?” Danny says a few days later; it’s late morning and they’re both still in their pajamas, snacking on Doritos and whatever else they can get their hands on. Because they are adults and they make their own choices. Also it’s the first day they’ve really, officially had off since tour started.

Perry, of course, is out doing errands. Carmilla has gotten up a few times, but is now back to her pit in which she dwells (her bunk). JP and LaF have been up since the crack of dawn, quietly playing video games. The rest of them are just lazing around, half-awake.

Laura looks up with a frown. “What?”

“That!” Danny replies and gestures violently to the mug of cocoa in front of her. Laura blinks and takes a sip from it.

“Huh, didn’t even notice,” she says with a smile. Danny groans.

“What, is she, like, courting you now?”

“It’s cocoa, Danny, not a marriage proposal,” Laura replies, mildly incredulous. She isn’t taking her too seriously; she knows when Danny’s really, sincerely angry. That’s how she knows Danny doesn’t despise Kirsch like she says she does. Sure, he’s not her favourite person, but Laura has a feeling their rivalry is more fun than hatred for Danny. She likes competition and neither Laura nor Perry have ever presented a challenge to her; Kirsch, Laura thinks, is a breath of fresh air, maybe.

“She has also brought you cookies, Laura. Cookies!”

Behind them, Betty snorts from where she’s watching JP and LaF play some form of violent video game. Danny ignores her.

“I’m not the only one who likes cookies, Danny,” Laura argues. “Natalie, you like cookies, right?”

“‘Course,” she replies sleepily, waving a lazy arm in her direction.  

“There we go!” she proclaims. Danny scowls into her coffee and pinches a cookie, looking spiteful.

“Danny,” she says, lowering her voice, though not unkindly. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Danny leans back in her chair and sighs. “I know,” she says. “But Perry’s all loved up with LaF,” who’s cackling and hi-fiving JP behind them. Laura knows it’s not all great on Perry’s part. She doesn’t say that, though. “And now you and Little Miss Seduction are a thing—”

“We’re not a thing. We’ve just, I dunno, matured. It was stupid, what we’re doing. Carmilla’s not going to stop being, well, Carm and I’m not going to stop annoying her, but we’ve made peace, I guess.”

Laura’s not really sure if they have; they never did explicitly, but they’ve stopped acting like children, much to Perry’s relief.

“Ugh, fine,” Danny says, smiling into her cookie. “But, I dunno, now I’m just alone hating Kirsch, making everything awkward.”

Laura rolls her eyes and puts the pack of cookies away. They got them ten minutes ago, she refuses to let them disappear within those ten minutes. “You don’t hate Kirsch,” she tells her, which is replied with a distant, “Yeah, she loves me really!” from the back of the bus.

“I will fight you,” Danny bellows back.

 

VIII.

There’s a change in their performance now. It’s feels like they’ve truly become a unit. Before it had just been Perry and LaF, their heads bowed together and grinning like lovesick teenagers, which was, admittedly, super endearing. Danny had taken to ruffling LaF’s hair every now and again; Laura’s not really sure how they feel about each other, but it has yet to become a problem, even if LaF occasionally looks like they’re about to pull out a Molotov cocktail at any moment.

Carmilla, however, now actually interacts with them. It had been stilted before, a few looks while they sang together, but nothing past that. She’s started to actually perform, with something other than complete boredom. She slinks around Danny— which actually might just be Carmilla taking advantage of the fact she can annoy Danny and get away with it on stage, but the fans don’t need to know that— and grins at Perry, pings her curls playfully. Laura’s pretty sure this terrified Perry at first. It probably still does.

However, it’s only after Carmilla puts her hands on Laura’s waist and waltzes her around the stage that critics and fans alike start to talk about how well they work together.

Carmilla seems to realise it’s working, because she’s started doing it more often. Laura starts to play into it too, kissing her on the cheek to hear the crowd scream. (This seems to throw everyone off, though, including Carmilla, so she doesn’t do it again. The way Carmilla had flushed slightly had been immensely satisfying, though).

It’s kind of like flirting, but the media is so heteronormative that when pictures of the kiss come out, they rave about this “close female bond”. Danny laughs at this and even Perry, damn her, smiles a little in amusement.

Laura tries to keep it mostly platonic though; she doesn’t want to be exploitative. She knows of bands who use “stage gay” for attention and it bugs her to no end. And besides, as much as Laura loves girls (which she does, a lot), Carmilla and her aren’t an item and she doesn’t want to tease the fans with that idea.

And she doesn’t want anyone else getting any ideas either. It seems to be happening anyway, that being said, judging by the way everyone keeps smirking at them.

 

IX.

The first time Laura met Carmilla, she called her _sweetheart_ and _darling_ and _cupcake_. She started calling her pet names straight away and she hasn’t stopped. There’ve been some terrible ones, like _buttercup_ and _creampuff_. LaF and Danny, in response, had started calling her things like _strudel_ and _Victoria sponge_ as a joke; it stopped after a few days and Sarah Jane tells her that it’s because Carmilla didn’t like it, which is ridiculous.

Sarah Jane also pointed out, in that kind, timid way she has, that she’s the only one. Carmilla doesn’t do that with anyone else and, apparently, never has.

Laura doesn’t look too into it, though, because it was never a way of showing affection. It was Carmilla being patronising. And, yeah, that isn’t her reason behind it anymore; Laura figures it’s just a habit by now. It’s not like she minds.  

It’s just not a thing, is her point. _They’re_ not a thing, no matter what LaF and Danny and the tech girls and, Hell, even Perry implies.

And she swears, if any of them winks at her again, after Carmilla brushes her hands across her shoulders and asks, “You all set up, cupcake?” she will… she doesn’t know what she’ll do, but it will be awful.

She doesn’t want to make a big deal of it, though, because then Carmilla might stop.

  
X.

Finding Carmilla outside in the evening with her guitar has become a common occurrence somehow. This time, it’s a few hours before they’re about to get going.

She finds her perched on a picnic table, a pinch between her brows and her lips pressed tight, a notebook in front of her. Laura wants to smooth out the creases in her forehead with her thumb, make her smile.

“You writing a song for me?” Laura jokes, which makes Carmilla’s head shoot up so fast Laura is surprised she didn’t break her neck with the force of it. Her mouth struggles around words for a few seconds.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” she says in a calm manner, her own contrived brand of nonchalance, but under it is something hysterical.  

Now Laura is the one left gaping like an idiot. Carmilla’s face does a huge variety of different things within just a few seconds.

“You were joking,” Carmilla says, sounding strangled. “And I am an idiot.”

“You’re writing a song for— for me?” Her voice goes embarrassingly squeaky near the end. Carmilla gives her something between a smile and a grimace. Laura awkwardly sits on the bench, below and beside her.

“It’s not going great,” she admits, her hands clasped together. “As inspiring as you are, sweetheart, you are… incredibly hard to describe, which doesn’t make for a great song.”

“Thanks, I guess,” her voice is wobbly and she hates herself for it. When Carmilla finally looks at her, right in her eyes, everything feels wobbly.

“You’re that kind of person, I suppose.”

“Oh?”

“The indescribable kind.”

Laura really wishes she had something clever to reply with, but she doesn’t, so she hooks her fingers into the bottom of Carmilla’s crop top and pushes herself up to kiss her instead. It’s an awkward angle and they’re not touching much, only two of Laura’s knuckles skimming her bare skin, anchoring her.

Carmilla remedies this when she hauls Laura up with surprising strength up onto the table, next to her, and buries one of her hands into her hair, at the back of her neck, and pulls her in deeper. Her other hand comes up to Laura’s jaw softly and all Laura can do in response is pull her as close as she can with her hands on her waist.

When she pulls apart, their foreheads touching and smiles that probably look completely ridiculous on their faces, the first thing she does is whisper out breathily, “I can’t believe you’re writing a song for me,” and goes back in to kiss her more.

She’s pretty sure she can no longer deny that, yes, this is a thing. Or at least, she thinks so.

“This is a thing, right? You’re not just, I don’t know—” she stutters, unsure. A beautiful, fond smile graces Carmilla’s face, which makes anything else she was going to say disappear.

“You,” she says, overwhelmingly fond, “are really the most ridiculous person I know,” and kisses her again, pulling her into her lap.

So, yeah. It’s a thing.


End file.
